


My blood, my soul, my brother

by Zombieheroine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A+ Shimada parenting, Brotherly Bonding, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Dark, Emotional Baggage, Family Drama, M/M, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Yakuza, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10101125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombieheroine/pseuds/Zombieheroine
Summary: Sometimes things happen to you, things that are so painful and horrible that you can’t talk to anyone about them. And then you do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shimada brothers and their dynamic touched something deep within my soul and I was overcome with inspiration, so I wrote this fic in the last couple of weeks. This was one dark ride for me and probably for you too, dear reader, but damn I must say I like how this turned out, and I'm so happy to share this instead of just vagueing about this on Tumblr.
> 
> I wanted to rid myself of some darkness, and this work indulged me. A lot of pain and darkness went into writing this, and now I'm 20K words lighter. I hope reading this fic will be interesting, enjoyable and cathartic for you too, dear reader!
> 
> Shout out to my dearest friend Chakatai for beta reading and supporting me while I worked on this!

Sun was up and high above Gibraltar. Its light was white, piercing and scorchingly hot, and it made the roof of Watchpoint shine and its yard almost impossibly hot place to loiter in. Hanzo stood in a thin shadow cast by a small tree, hiding from daylight that burned his skin and made existing painful.

It was that time of the year again. The anniversary of Genji's death was only a week away, and just like past ten years, Hanzo felt restless and numb. The fact that his brother was alive and both of their lives now had a new direction instead of mindless wandering made little difference. 

Hanzo wasn't officially a part of Overwatch, not really. Technically speaking no one was since the organization had been shut down, but the new version now in rogue had been rapidly becoming more and more operational during the passed year. Hanzo wasn't really a part of it, but with Genji's blessing and stubborn kindness and foolish trust from a certain few other agents, he might have as well been. He was very much aware that all he needed to do was to say the word and it would be official. 

Hanzo let his head fall back and hit the tree trunk behind him. The spring heat felt suffocating and the approaching anniversary was stirring his thoughts and feelings like a pond until its water was too muddy to see anything clearly. Hanzo wasn't sure if he wanted to leave or if he simply thought that was the right thing to do, or if he wanted to stay but feared what attachment would mean. Only one thing he was sure of, and that was that every thought started from Genji and ended up being about Genji as well. He let his eyes close even though it was impossible to block out the light of day.

“Lovely day, isn't it?” spoke a serene voice with a metallic echo in it, five or six feet away from where Hanzo stood. 

Hanzo opened his eyes and saw Zenyatta, who had quietly appeared from somewhere and was enjoying the sun with his head tilted back. 

“A little bit too bright for my taste,” Hanzo replied to the monk. The omnic made him wary. At first it had been about his expressionless face and odd mannerism, but after Hanzo had learned to know him better it had focused on his otherworldly kindness and how he always seemed to know more than you. 

“Truly? Well, even if that's the case, sunlight is healthy for humans,” Zenyatta mused. 

“Healthy does not equal enjoyable, especially with this heat,” Hanzo answered. 

“I have found that to often be the case, as well,” Zenyatta said with a touch of amusement in his voice. “But might it also be that during this time of the year few things are enjoyable to you?”

Before Hanzo had time to decide if he wanted to engage or make up a reason to leave, one of Zenyatta's orbs broke the formation and flew towards him prompted by a soft flick of the monk's wrist. Hanzo stood absolutely still as the little metal orb circled him while making its odd quiet jingling sound as it went. 

“There is a great deal of confusion and negativity in you right now,” Zenyatta observed and called the orb back. It fell back into its place flawlessly and the formation was complete again, “a great deal of conflict as well.” 

Hanzo remained silent. He didn't feel like opening up about his feelings, but got an uncomfortable impression that Zenyatta already understood them more than he himself did. 

“Conflict isn't necessarily bad,” Zenyatta continued, “it means many different forces are at play. It offers a chance for transformation.”

“That might be so in some cases,” Hanzo reluctantly admitted. He really didn't want to have this conversation. “But I'm afraid this is just about the approaching date. I'm sure you are aware.”

“Yes, I am. Genji told me,” Zenyatta said, as serene as ever. His gentle neutrality seemed out of place and thus felt unnerving. “That is why I sought you out, actually. Genji would like to speak with you. He is in his room, and I believe he has prepared tea.”

Hanzo blinked. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” Zenyatta confirmed. “I didn't wish to simply drop the message without proper greetings, but that is what Genji requested of me.”

Hanzo frowned. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple. “I – Thank you for informing me. I'll be on my way, then,” he hastily said, bowed out of habit and started to walk across the yard and towards the main building's door. 

“Good luck,” Zenyatta wished after him and stayed in the sun. 

 

The room that Genji called his own was all the way up on the sixth floor of the Watchpoint, in the very end of the hallway with windows on two walls, all giving out to the sea. 

When Hanzo stepped from the stairs to the hallway, his feet ran cold and a vague feeling of threat settled in the bottom of his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this, but the idea of meeting his brother for tea was so endearingly nostalgic and sweet that he forced himself to move and face the whatever else had prompted this meeting.

The door was open, and Hanzo stopped in the doorway, uncertain whether or not he should knock on the frame for formalities sake. He didn't come to any conclusion before Genji heard him and turned to meet his eyes, acknowledging his presence and freezing him in place, awkward. 

“Ah, good day, brother,” Genji greeted, stiff and formal. “Please, come in. Close the door, please.” 

Hanzo stepped inside and did as he was told. When the door clicked behind him, he immediately felt trapped despite the room's cozy atmosphere.

Not that it was overtly cozy; in fact, in someone else's eyes it might have looked ascetic, barren, even. The room was small and thanks to the large windows bathed in light. One of the windows was creaked open and the salty smell of the sea and the sound of the waves dominated the open space. The floor was covered in tatami, a shout-out for the distant homeland, in the corner there was a double-doored white metal closet, under the window a neatly folded futon and on top of that a pillow and bed covers, and in the middle of the room a small, dark brown low table that currently had a large pot of tea and two mugs on it. 

They stood awkwardly on different sides of the table, Genji shifting on his feet and picking on his hands, Hanzo rigid by the door with his hands in his sleeves. 

“I... Made tea,” Genji said and needlessly nodded towards the pot on the table. “I think I've finally learned to make it properly, like you. Would you have some with me?”

“Yes, of course,” Hanzo muttered, his gaze focused on the mugs instead of his brother. “I... Is there a reason for this?”

Genji swung on his place some more and threw a quick look out of the window. “Yes. Please sit down with me.”

They sat down, opposite of each other and unconsciously mirroring each other, legs crossed before them and hands on their knees. Genji pushed on mug towards Hanzo, then reached for the steaming tea pot. Hanzo thought to himself that his brother might have learned to brew tea but certainly hadn't improved his way of serving it.

“We need to talk,” Genji said to the grey tea cup as he poured the tea. 

“About?” Hanzo asked. His chest felt tight. 

Genji finished pouring the tea and leaned back on his own side of the table. “About us. And, more specifically, that one thing.” He poured his own mug full too fast, spilled some tea on the table and made a frustrated sound under his breath. “You know. _The thing_. That we used to have. Or do. You know?”

Hanzo curled his fingers around his tea mug and felt them turning cold and clammy despite the heat. He squeezed the mug harder. “Why do we have to talk about it?” he asked harshly, staring down into his tea. 

Genji made another frustrated huff. “Oh, we don't _have_ to. So allow me rephrase that: _I_ want to talk about it.”

There was an uncomfortable buzzing in Hanzo's legs and he shifted on his place in order to let his blood flow properly, but it didn't help. He turned the hot mug in his hands and kept his eyes cast down, unable to look Genji in the face. His brother's mask was on, but behind the green glow were his eyes and he could feel those eyes staring. “Do you wish to punish me?” he asked.

Genji took a deep breath, held it and slowly let it out. “I thought about that when I first started to really think about that stuff, but in the end came to a conclusion that it wouldn't be helpful to anyone. Plus this isn't about _you_ , this is about us.”

“Talking about it won't change the past,” Hanzo argued back.

Genji made an agreeing sound. “And that is exactly why we must talk about it.”

Hanzo couldn't stop a smile pushing its way to his face. “You have matured, brother.”

Genji bowed his head. “My journey here has been long and difficult, and it isn't over. But I intend to keep moving forward, and I believe that in order to do that we need to talk about this.”

Hanzo forced his other hand to let go of the mug and pushed it through his hair. “And why exactly does that mean we need to have this conversation? I am here, I followed you, I'm on the same path. Isn't that enough?! What do you want out of this?!”

It was Genji's turn to shift on his place. He untangled his legs and knelt on them instead, though not properly and didn't settle his weight on his feet. “I want us to be close again, like real brothers,” he said with a strain in his voice. “Don't think I haven't noticed how you won't be left alone with me, and how you keep your distance so not even our shoulders will touch. You're afraid of me and our relationship, and I don't want it to be like that. I want us to be normal, like a normal family.”

Hanzo combed through his bangs and needlessly tightened his ponytail. Genji's honesty rubbed him raw like sandpaper and demanded him to honor it with honest answers of his own. “We were never normal,” he said. “Whatever confessions you want from me, whatever curses you think you want to utter, none of it will matter. What I did can never be taken back, and that is my burden, not yours.”

“We,” Genji corrected. “What we did.”

They were closing in on the subject again, and Hanzo's insides tried to wither. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, tried to ground himself, and then opened them again. “Don't make excuses for me,” he said quietly. 

“That's not it,” Genji argued with a hint of impatience. He rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight, apparently just as restless as Hanzo but still pressing the matter. “You know, when I began to think about this during meditation, I thought I knew everything about it, too. The more I thought about it the more things started to gain some clarity, and I realized I had created this fitting narrative for you so it would fit into my story. When I realized that I also understood how absurd it was, as if I could read your mind and understand your side of the story. My anger and grudge needed that narrative, but it wasn't helping me one bit, so I discarded it.”

Hanzo listened, lifted his gaze from the table little by little and finally focused it somewhere around Genji's collar. He still couldn't look him in his face, but didn't look totally away either.

Genji paused and shrugged. “I also realized that you have probably done the same thing to me. You don't know what I think or feel, but you think you do. I don't know what you think or feel, and that's why I'm asking you now. That is why we need to talk, brother.”

Silence fell and the sound of waves and early summer wind filled the room. The silence settled with such finality that even though Hanzo hadn't made any decision yet, he sensed that Genji had just presented a winning argument. He studied his younger brother and the air around him, and slowly shook his head even though he already knew there was no helping it. “Where would I even start?” he asked. 

Genji sat up a little straighter. “Well. You could start by telling me if you want to look me in the eye while we talk. I can leave the mask on if that's kinder to you.”

Hanzo let out a breath and slumped a little. The room felt like a locked cage. This was inevitable. “Please, let me see your face then,” he said. 

Genji undid the visor and his helmet and set them both on the floor by the table, baring what was a very scarred face, bright brown eyes and short black hair that was flattened my the helmet in a rather amusing way. He ruffled his hair before his hands returned to cradle the tea mug. “So. From the beginning then.”

*

Three-year-old Hanzo hadn't been too happy to become a big brother. Very little had changed in life for seven-year-old Hanzo, and if anything had, he was now even less happy than before. Truly, one of the worst things in his life so far had been when Genji learned to walk, and it had now been triumphed by an even greater tragedy: Genji had learned to talk. 

Genji followed Mother everywhere, even and sometimes especially places he  
he wasn’t supposed to, like when Mother entertained guests or had tea with aunties and Grandmother. Genji skittered after her, clinging to her dress or trying to hide in the folds of her kimono, all the while whining and screaming: “Mama! Mama! Mama look! Mama, pick me up! Mama did you hear?! Mama, pick me up!”  
Adults mostly ignored him, which only made Genji whine louder, grow frustrated and eventually start to cry. 

Once, when Mother and Grandmother were walking in the garden, Hanzo was raking the stones around the old maple tree. From there he saw how Genji tried to ride their Mother’s kimono, but lost his hold on the obi, tumbled off and burst in tears. The women had tried to ignore him, but when the wailing started Mother anxiously glanced at him, then spun around and cradled the small boy in her arms. 

“Oh, my dear child,” she cooed, “did you hurt yourself? Show Mama where it hurts.”

Genji stopped crying in an instant, glistening brown eyes staring at the gentle face of Mother. He hiccuped, then pointed at his left knee. 

Mother hugged Genji to her chest and rocked him. “Poor baby,” she sighed, “how did that happen? Don’t worry, it won’t hurt long.”

Genji nodded and leaned against Mother. He sniffed and pushed his knuckles in his mouth, suckling at them quietly for comfort. Mother stroked his hair and back and rocked him in her arms. 

Hanzo had stopped tending to the stones the second Mother had scooped Genji in her arms. He stared at his pathetic, ill-behaved little brother hugged tight in the arms of his Mother like a baby, and only because he had cried a little. Tumbling a little couldn’t have even hurt that much!  
Hanzo bristled with irritation. He didn't cry even when he got properly hurt. Not when he got injured during his training, not when he fell from the wall, not when Father beat him with a bamboo sword, but the younger child apparently was allowed to be fragile like a baby chick. 

Grandmother tutted at Mother. “You will spoil that boy rotten if you keep coddling him like that. He’s not a baby anymore, and you shouldn’t treat him like one either. He must learn independence!”

“I know, I know,” Mother said. “Just this once. He’s hurt.” 

Grandmother harrumphed with dismissal. “That is the life of a warrior! He ought to get used to it. Besides, look at that one! He hasn’t cried since he learned to walk!” she said, suddenly gesturing towards Hanzo under the maple tree. 

Hanzo felt his spirit swelling with pride and fought to hide it. Praise from Grandmother was so rare Hanzo could count all the occasions of his life with one hand. He straightened, held the rake like a weapon by his side and made eye-contact with the old woman. She gave him a stern look and a nod of acknowledgment. 

“See? Ignoring ill-behavior gives results,” Grandmother spoke to Mother. “That is how I raised my sons. Now put that boy down, or he’ll never grow up to be a proper Shimada warrior.”

Mother sighed in defeat. She kissed the crown of Genji’s head and put him down on his own feet again. “There’s my good little boy,” she said with a gentle smile.

Genji stared at her kind face with pure wonder in his still wet eyes, but made no sound of protest.

Mother smiled. “Run along now, go play! Mama and Grandmother have grown-up things to do.”

To Hanzo’s surprise Genji did as he was told and left the women alone. Mother and Grandmother didn’t glance at either one of the boys anymore, but turned away and continued their way to the castle. Hanzo stared at his Mother’s back until she and Grandmother turned the corner and he couldn’t anymore. He turned to look at the perfectly raked stones he had worked on all afternoon. He didn’t particularly like stone gardens, but recognized his task was to create order there, not enjoy it. 

A small shadow appeared at his feet, and he lifted his eyes. Genji stared at his brother with a small mischievous smile.

“What?” Hanzo snapped at him. 

“Mother likes me more than you,” Genji declared with childish glee and stuck his tongue out at Hanzo before running off. 

“No she doesn’t and that doesn’t matter anyway!” Hanzo yelled after him, but his little brother didn’t even turn to look and soon disappeared behind the rose bushes. 

Hanzo stared after him, once again alone in the garden. He bit his lower lip, looked at the perfect rows of white and grey stones by his feet and tossed the rake down, destroying what he had created.

*

Genji tapped at the rim of his tea mug. “Wow, that really was from the beginning,” he said, attempting humor to lighten the mood. 

Hanzo wasn’t amused. He stared out of the window with a frown on his face and his fist pressed against his mouth. 

“Why did you tell me that?” Genji asked when his brother didn’t say anything. “I don’t even remember that.”

“You were too young then to remember that,” Hanzo muttered. “I don’t know why I told you that, to be honest. It’s just… I remember that very well. It’s one of my clearest childhood memories. The days with schooling and at dojo are all blurred together, but that day I can place exactly and I remember it all very clearly.”

“Wow. Sounds like I was a miserable little brat,” Genji said matter-of-factly. “You must have hated me so much back then.”

“Mmh, I don’t think I did, not really,“ Hanzo said. “I just… I… I don’t know what I felt. Or thought. I just remember that moment.”

“The fact that you remember it so clearly means that it was important to you. Something stuck with you then,” Genji said. His scars were suddenly itchy and he reached to his face to rub them. 

Hanzo finally turned his attention to his tea and raised the mug to his lips. It was still steaming but wasn’t too hot anymore, and he took an experimental sip out of it. The flavor was strikingly familiar and brought a wave of nostalgia so powerful that for a second he couldn’t breathe.  
Genji was watching him closely, probably waiting for the verdict of his tea brewing skills.

Hanzo nodded. “This is very good. You have improved.”

Genji smiled. “Thank you.”

Hanzo took another sip from his tea and turned to look outside again. The sea gleamed and sparkled in the sunlight, rising and falling calmly, and Hanzo noticed he was fitting his breathing to the rhythm of the sea. 

Genji spoke again: “You know… I don’t remember her holding me, at all.”

Hanzo sighed. “Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If you liked this, click kudos and maybe drop by in the comments below. I welcome all sort of feedback, thoughts and feelings!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! More childhood memories from the Shimada family. The brothers have a lot of baggage to go through. 
> 
> Thank you for all the readers, kudos givers and bookmarkers. <3

The business at the Shimada castle was no different from the usual despite the arrival of two small children. Everything was expected to go on like before, and the children were to be out of the way and at the same time preparing tirelessly to fill their roles, both in the family and the clan. 

This was what Father constantly reminded Hanzo of, and instructed him to pass on to Genji as well. Whether Hanzo liked it or not, he was no longer just a son and an heir to the clan, but also a big brother. This was as important a task as any of the other ones, perhaps maybe even more important since, as Father kept reminding Hanzo in between strikes from a bamboo sword, they would rule together one day, the future of the clan and their bloodline rested on their shoulders, and the big brother was always responsible for his younger brother. 

This knowledge was literally beaten in Hanzo with various combat weapons. It was the focus of his target practice, it was the backbone in his posture when he drew his bow, it was his point of gravity when he fought with bare hands. 

Only that his charge hadn’t gotten the message, any of them. Genji was turning five, and he was still whiny and cried easily. He was either too stubborn or too stupid to understand the message the adult family members were trying to teach him, and no amount of discouraging words and disdainful looks from Grandmother stopped Genji from trying to climb to Mother’s lap at every chance that presented.   
Every time it happened Hanzo felt the weight of shame like he himself was somehow responsible for his brother’s actions, but in some way he was angry at Mother as well. She wasn’t communicating the message to Genji clearly enough, not like Grandmother and Father did. She should have been more like Father in this manner. 

Hanzo remembered Mother putting him down, but he couldn’t recall a single occasion of Father holding him, nor could he remember himself wanting to be held. Father was to be obeyed and respected from a distance, and as his sons it was their duty to grow up to be worthy of respect in return. 

Eventually Hanzo’s annoyance and embarrassment focused on Genji again as he was the source of the discord. It was not their parents’ duty to coddle and shelter them, and Genji was too stupid to understand that.

One time when Hanzo was eight and Genji was five they sat around a dinner table as a family. It was a rare occasion to get to have dinner with just the four of them, and Hanzo fully intended to enjoy the moment to its full extent by eating slowly and quietly, observing his family and pretending the meal could go on forever. He wouldn’t let Genji spoil any of it, not with his noise or bad manners, and tonight Hanzo refused to be irritated even by the rubber-band keeping Genji’s chopsticks together. Hanzo had mastered chopsticks by the age of four when Mother had taken the rubber-band away and refused to give it back: if he couldn’t eat properly, he wouldn’t eat at all. Such rules didn’t apparently apply to the younger child though, and by every passing day when Genji’s clumsy eating habits were allowed to go on Hanzo was a little more annoyed by it. 

The evening was going pleasantly, perfectly normal. Mother had made a large pot of sliced beef cooked rare and vegetables along with it, and with it she served them white rice, fluffy and soft and so good that Hanzo would have been happy with just the broth and rice with it.   
As per usual, Father had a sake bottle on his side of the table, and he emptied and refilled his cup with a brisk pace as the meal went on, and by the third cup he was almost cheerful and kept handing more meat for both of his sons. 

Genji ate fast, shoveling in rice, meat and vegetables and spilling sesame oil on the table, but Father was in too good a mood to correct him and Mother just smiled at his appetite as well. Hanzo imagined other families had meals like this all the time and focused on that thought while he dipped a slice of beef in the sesame oil and ate it without spilling a single drop. 

With Genji’s eating pace the problem was not only the mess he made but also that he was finished first, way before anyone else. He still had left-over rice in his bowl, and in his boredom stuck his chopsticks in there so they stood up in his bowl. He lay down on his back on the floor, kicked the table and groaned loudly. 

“Genji, sit up,” Mother firmly told him, and Genji did as he was told but laid his face down on the table immediately after. 

“Genji, sit properly,” Mother told him again, and after a protesting whine Genji did as he was told. 

Genji didn’t behave for long, but wiggled on his place and made frustrated sounds. Hanzo rolled his eyes at his behavior and anxiously glanced at their Father whose good mood was slowly vanishing due to Genji’s behavior. 

When Genji grew tired of pretending to sit still, he crawled towards Mother and stuck to her side, and within a minute tried to subtly sneak into her lap.

Hanzo watched as Father filled his cup of sake again and glared at Mother while doing it, then emptied the cup in one go. “You ought to control that boy more,” he said, displeasure evident in his tone. Mother was in a difficult position, rice bowl and chopsticks in her hands, a five-year-old boy under her arm and half in her lap, and her husband glaring at her.   
“Genji, sit on your own place,” Mother tried to order, but Genji hid behind her sleeve and pretended he was not listening.   
Mother threw a look at Father, who was shaking his head and filling his sake cup again, refusing to make eye-contact with his wife. 

Hanzo looked at his almost finished meal, only broth in the bottom of his bowl and all of his rice gone. He wasn’t really hungry anymore, so he set his bowl down, snatched Genji’s offensively sticking chopsticks from the rice, set them on the table and quickly shoveled the leftovers straight from the bowl into his mouth with his own chopsticks.

He could feel Father’s displeased eyes at him as he ate, and when Hanzo set the cleaned dishes and his chopsticks down, Father grunted: “Only dogs eat the scraps from others.”

Hanzo paid him no mind, but got up from his place and went to Mother. “Genji, come on, let’s go,” he said to his brother and started to peel his brother away from Mother, “let Mother eat in peace.”

He expected a stubborn fight and whining from his brother like every time the adults tried to ignore him, but to his surprise Genji obediently let go of Mother’s clothes and let himself be pulled up. Genji smiled up at him, eyes bright, and reached up with both arms. Instinctively, if a bit confused, Hanzo hoisted his brother all the way up, and the younger wrapped his arms around his neck and clung on him with his knees.

Mother let out a little laugh at them, and Hanzo decided to simply accept the situation and started to carry his little brother away from the dining room. 

“Be careful with your brother,” Mother called after him, a hint of a amused laugh in her voice. 

Hanzo felt his heart thumping faster. “Yes, Mama,” he replied, internally grimacing at how childish he sounded. Genji held on to him, for once content, for once quiet, and with his arms full of a living being Hanzo wondered if this was the feeling good big brothers were supposed to feel and what made them carry on with the duty. 

Maybe it was after that day, or maybe some time after that, but Genji stopped following their Mother and pulling at her hems to get attention. After that he focused his attention solely on Hanzo, who didn't know how to feel about it. 

Genji followed him everywhere. He sat next to him at meals and copied what and how he ate, followed him to the dojo and wanted to train together despite their different levels of experience, got in the way when Hanzo did his chores, and carried his toys to Hanzo's room and played there when Hanzo tried to study. 

Hanzo was too old to join Genji's play, but Genji didn't seem to mind too much as long as he got to be near him somehow at all times. Only one play Hanzo was forced to partake, and that was riding: He had once picked Genji up, and that was the thing his brother was fixated on, so in no time Hanzo was carrying him on his back everywhere whether he liked it or not – and he didn't. It simply seemed to be the price of maintaining the newly found brotherly bond, because as soon as Hanzo tried to refuse a piggyback-ride, Genji's lower lip started to tremble and his eyes fill with tears.

Not even the adults wanted to save him from becoming a koala mom, on the contrary: Uncle and Great-Uncle who were currently responsible for most of their combat training agreed that Genji acted as a splendid weight on Hanzo, who soon learned to climb walls and jump roofs with a giggling bundle at his back. 

Sometimes when they were alone in Hanzo's room on quiet evenings, Genji would tire of playing alone and crawl closer to his brother, who was always either reading or studying, and push himself under his arms and into the narrow space between his body and the table, carefully laying down on his lap.   
Genji wasn't heavy but from time to time he would wiggle and disturb Hanzo, but attempting to push him away made him cling to his hakama and whine, so Hanzo submitted to his fate and let him be.

Sometimes soon became often, and often became daily, and even though Hanzo would never in a million years utter it out loud to a living soul, he got accustomed to holding his brother. After he got used to it and honed his own toddler-holding technique to perfection, it became something he looked forward to when they were alone, and from time to time picked Genji up without being asked or prompted. 

Holding something felt good. Having something living pressed tightly against his chest calmed something restless inside Hanzo that meditation and practice weren't able to reach, something empty was now filled and his hands and arms stopped itching to reach out for something. He had his arms full with a heavy bundle of warmth that was his little brother, and sometimes when Hanzo allowed himself to drift in his thoughts he stopped thinking of Genji as a child and more like a comforting plush toy. He pulled him tight against his chest and rubbed his cheek against the top of his head and breathed in the baby scent of his still soft hair.

*

Genji tilted his head while watching him. His brother had gone quiet again, and his expression was pained. Genji wasn't sure if recalling anything at all from their childhood was the cause, or if this particular memory was hiding a seed of something unpleasant. 

Hanzo probably thought it did. Genji felt the edge of his tea mug, judged it a good temperature and lifted it to his lips. His synthetic lower lip didn't feel the warmth. Genji reminded himself that this was not just their first time of talking about their childhood together, this was Hanzo's first time talking about it with anyone, and in his mind it was all still murky and heavy. 

Genji recalled the time when he had first started to address those times through meditation and how he had flinched away from it, how he had found dark spots where a memory was supposed to be and was not, and how those missing pieces had become monsters lurking in dark corners of his own mind, waiting for a chance to jump him and force their horrors on him.   
There was no sword nor an arrow that could strike those monsters down, the only way was to shine light on them. 

“I remember you carrying me a lot,” Genji said after he concluded that Hanzo wasn't going to go on if he didn't have to. “I don't remember that first occurrence, just a lot of times after that across many years, until I became too tall for that and wanted to walk on my own anyway.”

Hanzo glanced at him but his pained frown stayed on. 

“Hey, I asked you to. I wanted to be carried and sit in your lap, okay?” Genji pointed out.

Hanzo shook his head and combed his hand through his bangs, anxious. “You were too young, you don't even remember that.”

Genji shrugged. “Yeah, but... That was then. And it was normal. Whatever happened later in life there's no way a seven-year-old carrying a four-year-old had that much to do with it.”

Hanzo mumbled something to himself, took a deep breath and tightened his ponytail again. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rhythm of the waves. 

“Father approved it,” Hanzo suddenly said towards the window. 

“He did?” Genji asked. He didn't recall much about the adults during his early childhood. Sometimes they were there at a dinner table or at the dojo, but in all of his brightest, clearest memories it seemed almost like he and Hanzo lived in their own little world, alone in the enormous Shimada castle and its gardens, like they were spirits and the Shimada-gumi distant shadows of a different world that didn't even see them. 

“He did. He was in a better mood when I started spending time with you. I think it was because you stopped crying so much. He disapproved of his sons crying, probably worried that we'd grow up weak. So I carried on, partially to keep Father's mood up,” Hanzo said and reached for his tea again.   
Genji watched as he drank, happy that he had really meant that the tea was good and wasn't just being polite. “Hm. Probably liked how you did his job for him,” he said. Hanzo just stared outside. “Did you even have plush toys? Like, ever?” 

Hanzo turned back to him, and this time his frown was confused. “I did, when I was very young. Why?” 

Genji shrugged. “I don't remember you having any.” 

Hanzo frowned even more, then seemed to sink deep in his thoughts. He took a harsh sip of tea, combed his fingers through his bangs (again), then leaned his chin on his palm. “I did have a plush toy that I liked very much, but I grew out of it. I... suppose it was before you were old enough to remember it.”

“What was it?”

Hanzo shifted in his place, threw a half-hearted glare at Genji before replying: “It was a bunny. It was... Very soft, light blue and button-eyed. I carried it around with me and slept with it too.”

Genji bit the inside of his lip to stop a grin breaking out. He tried to imagine Hanzo with a stuffed bunny under his arm, and whatever he came up with was equal parts of adorable and hilarious. He hid his smile behind the mug. 

“I cried when it was taken away from me,” Hanzo suddenly confessed. “I knew I wasn't supposed to, and that I was too old for a toy like that, but I did. I cried all afternoon. I couldn't stop.”

Genji didn't know what to say. Hanzo looked puzzled by the memory and his behavior back then, maybe even by the fact that he had decided to share the story at all, just staring ahead while trying to understand himself and the memory until he snapped out of it and reached for his tea again. 

“Father?” Genji asked just to confirm it.

“Yes,” Hanzo replied with the mug against his lips.

“Figures.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I must say that as the eldest sibling myself I relate to Hanzo's character (both canon and my headcanons) a lot. The second child has a whole different experience from the first.
> 
> Shout out to my friend Nappi for suggesting that Hanzo's plush toy was a bunny.   
> Hanzo called it Usagi-chan, but the name didn't make it into the work itself because of translation issues. I try to avoid using Japanese if there's a translation available for readability and consistency reasons, and so I briefly considered putting the name in as "Bunny-chan", but the part I really wanted to communicate was the affection in the chan-suffix, which doesn't translate. Just know that Hanzo loved Bunny-chan. 
> 
> Kudos sustain a writer and comments are pure gold. Don't be shy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! They are awesome. <3
> 
> Here's the third part, where there are monsters in the night, words and names hold great power, and shame is the greatest of pains.

Late nights at the Shimada castle were often noisy and scary. At the age of ten Hanzo had a good idea of what his family did for a living and what their bloodline existed for, and he was already well used to seeing a lot of people with various weapons around the premises. There were scary-looking men in black suits or in traditional clothing, hulking body guards, people with tattoos, people who were noisy and drank a lot, and Hanzo had many times witnessed the women of his family and the service staff hurry to get out of the way of men. Women only served drinks and food when needed, save for the odd Aneki who wore suits like men. 

Hanzo wasn't afraid of men with guns. He carried weapons himself and he knew how to use them. He had his wakizashi-sword on his belt and his Father's old handgun in his sleeve, and even if he didn't he was rarely far from Father's side, and everyone respected Oyabun's oldest son. 

What made a cold feeling not completely unlike fear slither in Hanzo's stomach were the women that accompanied Father and uncles home on some late nights. Sometimes the men were too drunk to walk on their own, sometimes they leaned on the women in their company because they felt like it, and Hanzo had to see it all because he stood by his Mother and aunties who took the burden of their husbands from the strange women. 

The women were nothing like the women Hanzo saw passing through the castle or on the streets of Hanamura during daylight hours. Not like the modestly or traditionally dressed mothers and wives running errands, not like the girls in their loose and formal school uniforms, and not like the masculine Aneki in suits. Hanzo just stood there, rigid and tense, and stared. Those women wore skirts so short or shorts so tight that it was easy to forget they were wearing any at all. They bared all of their long legs and round thighs, some bare and milky white, some clad in impossibly thin stockings, and all of that directly on Hanzo's eye-level. These women wore glittering skirts and tiny jean shorts, low-cut shirts and see-though tops showing off their lacy bra, and beautiful little jackets made of fur, they had their hair in girlish pig-tails or complicated braids, and were always accompanied by the jingling sound of their large earrings and gold and silver rings on their wrists, and a dizzying cloud of perfume.

It pained and embarrassed Hanzo to see his Father leaning on a strange woman, but still he couldn't stop staring at those giggling creatures. Sometimes he caught someone's eye and got a wink or a pink smile that made his face burn and gaze drop to his feet. 

When the business was going particularly well, those women stayed and the celebrations went on in the large tatami-floored halls of the castle. Hanzo was secretly grateful that Mother ushered him to bed so he didn't have to stay and watch the men who fancied themselves noble warriors get intoxicated out of their minds and shamelessly grope women who were definitely not their wedded wives. Hanzo hated all kinds of parties, he hated the noise and alcohol and the tense expression on his Mother's face when the clan and their escorts were messing up her house. 

One of those night Hanzo was trying to sleep. He had obeyed his Mother and went to bed, but lay on his futon wide awake, his pillow hugged tight to his chest and listened to the noises ringing through the corridors and thin walls. It was all blurred together and just kept him from getting sleep, but then one sound registered to him through the meaningless noise pollution: Footsteps approaching his room. 

A cold wave went through Hanzo, his skin crawled and his palms and feet tingled. Sometimes certain men of the clan wandered away from the adults and sought out Hanzo. On those moments Hanzo was extremely aware of how alone he was, and he itched with a desire to pull his wakizashi out and stab the man in the stomach until he stopped moving. 

But as the footsteps approached Hanzo realized they belonged to someone much lighter than a grown man, and they were too steady and quick to belong to someone intoxicated. For one wild second Hanzo wished and feared it would be one of the glittering girls, but there was only one creature in the whole castle who was that small. 

Hanzo sat up at the same moment when his door was pushed open and a ray of light fell inside. 

“Nii-chan, a strange man tried to come into my room,” Genji's small voice said. He had his pillow squeezed against his chest and half of his face pressed into it. “Can I please sleep here?”

Small hairs on the back of Hanzo's neck stood up, and he answered before he even thought about it: “Of course.”

Genji tiptoed into the room and the light vanished. His steps went pitter patter on the tatami as he hurried to Hanzo's futon. Hanzo lifted his bed cover, and Genji slipped under. A pillow was plopped next to Hanzo's, and a tuft of hair appeared on it. 

Hanzo lay back down and tried to settle down while his brother wiggled next to him, knees and cold feet bumping against him and tiny hands pulling at the cover. They almost fought of the cover, both trying to wrap it around themselves and leave the other for the cold, but after a while they settled down. Hanzo turned on his side and Genji nestled against his chest, still small enough to do that and crabby even in his sleep, pushing as close as he could get. Small hands fisted in his yukata and Genji pushed and rubbed his face in the folds of it until he could rest his cheek against skin, and there he fell asleep. 

Hanzo didn't know where else to do with his hands so he put them around Genji like he had had them around his pillow. Despite the noise he too fell asleep soon after.

After that night Genji returned to Hanzo's room, and before long he slept there more often than in his own.

*

The conversation was starting to drift towards the subject that they hadn't ever mentioned before. Hanzo felt like he was paddling out in the open ocean, and there was a shark circling him, but on the other hand he was glad he had asked Genji to remove his mask, because Genji looked uncomfortable too despite having initiated the conversation. 

“Do you want to stop this?” Hanzo asked with a feeble hope that Genji had changed his mind and would want to call it a day. Hanzo knew he certainly did. 

But Genji shook his head. “No, no, I want to do this. I just... This is hard for me too, you know? I know I've thought about this and handled it and I want to take this next step but...” 

“It feels bad,” Hanzo finished the sentence for him. 

Genji nodded. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and glanced at the ceiling like the gods in high heavens would give him strength. 

Hanzo stared at his now empty tea mug and mourned the loss of his one and only distraction. “These things are not meant to be talked about,” he said. “None of it was supposed to happen in the first place. It was wrong, so wrong that there are no words for it.”

“No, there are words!” Genji argued, suddenly irritated. “We have to talk about this! We can't move on otherwise, don't you see?!”

“There are things that can't ever be undone, Genji!” Hanzo snapped back. “Things that won't ever become smaller or easier to bear, they simply are, and those burdens just have to be borne in silence!”

“You're wrong,” Genji said forcefully. His expression was determined and his hands were squeezed into fists. “I know the past can't be undone, and I know it has to be endured, but it doesn't have to be so hard! I know, I know because I lessened my own pain! Do you think it was easy for me to meditate on our past? Do you think that I just thought to myself one day that I'd like to feel less ashamed and guilty and then poof! I did?”

“Of course not!” Hanzo shouted and slammed his hand on the table, then caught himself and took a deep breath to calm down. “Of course not. But it doesn't change anything.”

“It can change the present and guide the future,” Genji pressed on. “Look, when I first started to process this shit I couldn't do it. I couldn't think about any of it for no longer than a minute or so, and some of it I outright refused to acknowledge at all. It was all so big and dark and scary, and it made me feel even worse than before.”

Hanzo repressed a wince with the sheer force of will even though every word Genji said cut him. He put his hands on his knees and pressed his nails into his palms.

Genji continued, his voice softer now but still full of determination: “But with each time it got a little easier. I recalled a memory, meditated on it and let it go. After a while, they were less scary and less big, and I could recall another one. Then another one. They hurt, they were awful, and from time to time I hated you, I hated Father and I hated Mother, I hated our whole family and the clan. At one point I hated Japan and our culture. But they were just responses to my memories, and my memories were just thoughts. I recalled and I felt, I accepted, and then I let them go.”

Hanzo felt a jab in his chest at each thing Genji announced his hatred for. A memory of their family dinners on rare quiet evenings flashed through his mind, he recalled Mother's cooking and the scent of her hair, he could smell rice and vinegar and forget Father's sake cup. A terrible longing came over him, and with it a wave of bitter anger. 

The feelings must have shown on his face, because Genji tilted his head curiously and asked: “What are you feeling now, brother?”

“I... Recalled our family dinners, the normal ones we sometimes had,” Hanzo answered.

“And what are you feeling?” Genji continued to press.

Hanzo frowned. He didn't understand it himself, so what was there to say? “I miss it, but... I hate it too. I don't know why, I don't... I haven't thought about it,” he explained, rubbing circles into his brow. 

“We have time now,” Genji said. 

Hanzo glanced at him under his brows. The weight of a decade apart settled over him, merciless and bitter. Genji had changed and grown so much he was barely recognizable, and Hanzo felt small, lost and empty. He felt a suffocating need to let tears fall and wail his grief for everyone to hear like that day when Father had taken his blue bunny away. He fought to repress the need and pressed his palms against his eyes, furiously rubbing until he saw stars. When he let his hands drop, Genji was still looking at him expectantly. 

Hanzo sighed. “I miss those moments, because we were a normal family then. And then I remember that we were never normal. We never got to have any of that.”

Genji hummed in agreement, his eyes sad. “I realized that too, a long time ago. We never had a chance.” 

They sat in bitter silence for a long while. The sound of the waves registered to them both when there was no speech to focus on, as did the sun that had traveled across the sky and was now on the other side of the building, leaving them in the shadow of the afternoon. The sea was a constant presence, and Hanzo noticed it was easy to fit his breathing to its rhythm even if it didn't move the weight in his chest anywhere. The smell of salt water was so strong they might have as well been on the beach below. 

“When I was a child all of what our family was and had seemed so cool,” Genji said suddenly. “I loved our family castle and the kimonos and the heirloom katana. I loved the stories about battle brothers, samurai riding into battle, and that one where a fatally wounded warrior demanded their head severed from their shoulders so that the enemy couldn't claim it as a trophy. I wanted us to be brothers like that.”

Hanzo closed his eyes briefly. “I'm sorry.” 

Genji shrugged. “It worked out for a while, I think, and it wasn't even the violence that got to me, it was the... The criminal part. I wanted to walk in the shadows, just not like that. Smuggling, scamming and fights in the underworld I could deal with, but not with the injustice we witnessed. Not the bribes or human-trafficking or the drugs. Where was the honor in those?”

Hanzo huffed a light chuckle and shook his head. “In a way, you held the code closer to your heart than any of our kind has in the last hundred years. Somehow you were too pure for a Shimada.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Genji agreed with a lopsided smile. He licked his scarred lips anxiously and glanced towards the window. “That wasn't the misstep I wanted to talk about, though. I... really wanted to talk about us, you and I. Just you and I and our... our thing.” 

Either words failed Genji or he opted out of the conversation at the last moment, glancing at Hanzo with an expression that begged him to finish the sentence. All the melancholic mirth was suddenly gone, and Hanzo felt trapped in the small room again. 

“What do you want of me?” he asked, suddenly tired of this game of cat and mouse with them and the unnamed horror of a subject. “Would you like me to lie on my front and beg for forgiveness? If you wish it so, I will, but it still won't change anything.”

“I know it won't change,” Genji said for the umpteenth time, “I just want to talk about it! For someone – for _us_ – to say it.”

Hanzo chewed on the inside of his cheek and kept staring at the table. Every time he tried to look at Genji, shame bubbled up in his gut and burned so cruel he couldn't. “That's what we've been trying to accomplish all this time, and perhaps back then while we were in the middle of it as well. It's all for nothing, Genji, there _are_ no words, there is no way to talk about this! We can never speak of it to anyone, and we cannot talk about it among ourselves!”

“Um. That's where you're wrong,” Genji said with a tone that Hanzo recognized from time when he had confessed about his nightly escapades. “I've already done that.”

Something cold and paralyzing like neurotoxin flooded Hanzo's veins. “Done what?” he asked and feared the answer.

Genji suckled on his lower lip and looked slightly apologetic. “I've talked about it. All of it. I told everything to Master Zenyatta years ago.”

Hanzo felt frozen and exposed. The feeling crawled across his spine as if he had sensed a sniper aiming at his neck, and an overwhelming urge to scratch and scrub at his own skin until it was red and clean of the gaze of others kept him in his place, still and mute. He couldn't even breathe.

Genji looked sad and regretful, and strangely sweet. “It's okay, just breathe. Breathe. You can breathe, Ani-san.”

Hanzo took a trembling gasp, and with that movement the paralysis passed and his hands started to shake instead. He felt dizzy and weak, and he tried to hear the sea again and cling to the rhythm like a lifeline. He had to keep the breath going, he had to, or he would surely die on the spot right here, and bother his brother once more with his corpse on his floor. 

Someone knew. Someone _knew_. They had never been caught, their secret had always been safe, and now it was all out. 

“But... But...” Hanzo stuttered, fighting with his rebelling lungs and tongue to form words, “he's been nothing but kind to me? All this time? How could he _possibly_ – ?”

“Take a deep breath, Ani-san,” Genji said, and for once Hanzo did as the younger told him to. “Master really is something else. But for real, this just isn't like you have made it in your head to be, like I said in the beginning. He doesn't make things about his personal judgment, he just helped me to untangle my thoughts and feelings about this. I found the words. We can find them together as well.”

Hanzo swallowed around a lump in his throat, then swallowed again when it refused to move. He felt like he was choking. “I don't want to,” he said, a feeble refusal that he knew was futile. “I don't want to, I know what I did, I know and I don't – It's useless, Genji, this is all _useless_!”

“No it's not,” Genji insisted, leaning forward across the table. “We're going to do this, and it will be okay eventually! Not today or tomorrow, but one day! We'll be... We'll be a family again.”

Hanzo pressed his palms against his eyes again, partially to let the darkness calm him and partially to hide his shamefully pained expression he could no longer contain. “How could we? I hurt you! I hurt you worse than I've ever hurt anyone in my life!”

Genji set his metal hands on the table with enough force to make the teapot and the mugs jump. “Our lives were always full of violence, from the very beginning! That it was done to me doesn't make it any more special!”

“No, not that,” Hanzo argued, dizzy and slightly nauseous. “I – I raped you. I've never – No one, ever, just you, you whom I was supposed to protect, I raped you and. And failed everything.”

Silence again. 

Then, with all the previous force gone of his voice, Genji said: “...What?”

Hanzo let his hands drop and forced himself to look at his brother. “You wanted me to confess, didn't you? I said it now.”

Like a bird Genji slowly tilted his head to the side and his dumbstruck surprise turned into open confusion. “Yeah, but no, whoa there...You never raped me?”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow and returned a grimmer version of Genji's confusion. 

Genji leaned back on his side of the table and rubbed the scars on his face while staring Hanzo in the eye. “I wanted it. I always did. It took me a long time to sort out why and how it all happened and how I felt about it, but I never felt like you... forced me. You didn't, okay? I know it wasn't good for us, but it's not that simple! It just isn't.”

Hanzo shook his head again. “You were too young, you – “

Genji glared. “Don't tell me what I felt. I wanted it, and don't make me say that again. If you please.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and comments! It's so lovely to hear your thoughts and get some love for this work. :)

Hanzo was fourteen years old when he first killed a man. It had been coming for a long time, as he had partaken in multiple fights and been at deals gone wrong, traded bullets and crossed swords, all of which was simply a part of the job and came easy to him, not only because of the practice but also because he was at Father's side and followed his example. At first Hanzo had been the last one to draw his wakizashi or katana, but by thirteen he had learned to read the situations well enough to follow the curve of escalation with the rest of the Shimada-gumi. 

It had been a brawl between clans at a contested but officially neutral zone of Kyoto, a routine route for laundered money used by several clans, but a confrontation happened anyway. There had been a disagreement about prices that was followed by rude remarks, and finally with refusal to apologize. A fight was inevitable. In the midst of it Hanzo had unsheathed his wakizashi, pressed the handle against his palm, supported the blade against his torso and rammed it into his opponent's gut, efficiently ripping fabric and flesh and making him drop almost immediately. Hanzo knew from the smell and the glassy stare in the man's eyes that he was dead, but the fight was still on and he moved on to the next target. 

On their way back to Hanamura Father had patted Hanzo on the shoulder and told him that now that the dragon had tasted heart blood for the first time, Hanzo was finally becoming a man. 

They were back home late, and Hanzo was exhausted after a long day and its events. He wanted nothing more than to eat, take a bath and go to sleep, and that was the only thought in his head when he parted ways with Father and his men, who were off to bars and clubs. 

Back at the Shimada castle Hanzo found a lunch-box full of riceballs with nori and plums, and on the lid a short note from Mother welcoming him home and wishing him a good night. Hanzo took the box and walked to his room to prepare for a bath. 

It turned out that he didn't have to bathe alone: In his room was Genji, clad in his white bath yukata and lying on Hanzo's made futon, a small game console in his hands. When Hanzo entered the room, Genji's face lit up and he jumped up from his place.

“Welcome home, Nii-chan! Wanna take a bath?”

Hanzo had his mouth full and lone rice beads stuck to his chin, and he simply wiped his face on the back of his hand and nodded. 

It felt good to discard the heavy black suit he wasn't fully accustomed to yet, wrap himself into a light yukata and then sneak to the baths with Genji. Most of the castle was quiet so late and with the men out, only guards patrolling the premises, and Hanzo and Genji had a long time ago learned to sneak around without being noticed, simply for their own amusement. 

The bath was predictably empty when they arrived. Hanzo set the hot water running while Genji set their soaps and wash-cloths in their wooden buckets by the showers and pulled out stools for them. Then they sat down to wash themselves, like any other evening. 

Hanzo washed away the dried up sweat and soaped his shoulder-length hair, then focused on scrubbing off blood stains that had somehow gotten under his sleeves and on his arms. The coppery brown stains were hard to clean even with soap, and something seemed to linger behind even when the skin was clean. 

Despite having short hair and being already eleven, Genji still asked Hanzo to wash his hair for him, and the older provided out of habit. They took turns washing each other's backs, and took their time with it. Hanzo scrubbed the hairs on the back of Genji's neck and rubbed his back with soap in circles all over, stopping briefly to tickle his armpits and sides and grinned to himself when the younger giggled and squirmed on his stool. Then he rinsed the boy by filling out a bucket and pouring it all on Genji's head, the way they had liked it since they were little. 

Then they switched, and Genji washed Hanzo's back, careful and thorough, and rinsed his long hair for him, combing his nimble fingers through his brothers coarse locks. 

When they were clean, they climbed in the bath together, Hanzo leaned his back on the side and sank under the water all the way to his chin, and Genji settled down next to him, supporting himself against Hanzo. 

“I killed a man today,” Hanzo said.

“Eeeh! Finally!” Genji said, perking up. “With what? How? What did he do? What did Father say?”

Hanzo chuckled, feeling a bit cheeky under his younger brother's admiration. “With my wakizashi. Just like we've practised! There was a fight – don't worry about that, we won – and he went down straight away!”

“Woaah,” Genji sighed and grinned up at him. “So cool!”

“And,” Hanzo continued, “Father said it's time for tattoos! I'm getting a dragon on my left arm soon.”

“So cool!” Genji repeated and dramatically dropped down in the water as if fainting from admiration and envy. “I want a dragon tattoo too! A green one, on my back. Do you think I'll be getting one soon?”

“I'm sure of it,” Hanzo assured him, and Genji splashed the water in delight. Hanzo lifted his left hand out of the water and inspected it closely. “The scent of blood sticks on your skin, though...” he said, half to himself.

“Yeah?” Genji asked, not really interested but took the notion as an invitation to lean closer. He took a hold of Hanzo's bicep with one hand and of wrist with the other and pulled himself on top of his brother's thighs. “It looks clean, though.”

“Yeah,” Hanzo agreed and sank a bit deeper in the tub, pulling Genji with him. He couldn't resist the urge to poke him to the side when he was so close, and Genji jerked, splashed the water and laughed.  
At eleven Genji was just starting to grow, he was skinny and his limbs too long, and even with all of his training his muscles were barely keeping up with the change. He was willowy and springy and moved fast and nimble, already faster on his feet than his big brother, and yet still he never skipped an opportunity to crawl in his lap like a toddler. 

Genji was poking Hanzo's chest, fingering his collarbone and carefully skiting further down. “You're changing,” he noted.

“I won't be a boy much longer,” Hanzo said, “I'll be a man. And so will you, in a few years.”

“With tattoos,” Genji added with glee, “and my own katana.” 

*

Genji was frowning and rubbing at the scars crisscrossing across his mouth. “Oh, yeah, that was the first time you killed, now that you mentioned it,” he said. “I had forgotten that part.”

“It was... background noise, I suppose,” Hanzo said. He had mentioned his first kill only in passing to empathize how hard the fight had been and how the day had dragged on, and now was the first time either one of them really thought about that. “I... What does that matter? I... I was trying to point out we were too old to take baths together like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Genji said and waved the subject aside for now. Hanzo stared at him, disbelief evident in his wide eyes. Genji hurried to clear up his point: “No, really, think about it! We are talking about murders here. Shouldn't that take priority? You know, among normal people?”

Hanzo suppressed a tired sigh and shrugged. “Probably. But we hardly were – or are – normal. Besides, do you remember your first?”

Genji hummed thoughtfully as he wrecked his brain for a moment, then shook his head. “Damn, I really don't. They are all kind of blurred together. I recall individual cases if they were odd or hard to pull off, but not the first one.”

“See?” Hanzo said, exasperated. “Can we please return to the subject so we can get it over with?”

“But this _is_ part of the subject,” Genji argued. “That was part of our lives, that was our family! Don't you think all of that played a part in our thing? You always told me to stop being selfish and thinking about only myself, so how come everyone around us doesn't also share the blame with us?”

Hanzo pressed his lips together in an angry line, but yielded and nodded. “Very well, then. Let's talk about violence. What's there to say? It was there.”

“From the very beginning, Hanzo. Always. I never even batted an eye at it, no matter what. Still don't. Don't tell me that's normal for a human being,” Genji said. 

“I won't. I just don't see your point,” Hanzo replied.

“Well, during my time in Nepal and talking about this with Master Zenyatta, it occurred to me that it's not me who's screwed up in the head and caused the things to go off the rails. It's because everything around us was screwed up that made us that way.”

Hanzo let his head tip back and gave his most exhausted sigh yet. “Don't go blaming your family. The same blood flows through all of us,” he said.

“You still won't accept that I'm not looking to place blame, brother?” Genji said in turn. “I have accepted who I am, that's what I told you before. I didn't mean just my cybernetic body, I meant also the very human blood flowing through it. Along with everything else, I accepted myself as a Shimada too, perhaps for the first time in my life.” 

When Hanzo looked back at Genji, he looked surprised and slightly impressed. Some tension drained of his shoulders, like he finally received closure to a long-on-going troubles. “Shimada Genji, finally able to introduce himself like a normal person,” he said with a touch of a smile. 

Genji snorted. The sound echoed in his vents. “Yes, finally. I always knew that the bonds of blood can't be severed. I did not only want you back in my life, but I also accepted the rest of my kin as such. No matter how much I'd want it to be otherwise, Father is a part of me too.”

“And Mother,” Hanzo reminded him.

“Yes. And Mother.”

*

When they brought her back home late at night, Hanzo and Genji stood outside in the garden by themselves, both clad in traditional kimono and hakama, Hanzo holding a white paper-lantern and Genji holding on to his sleeve. They had been woken up in the middle of the night by their aunties, dressed and ushered outside.

It was a cool summer night, not a single whisper of wind anywhere, and the cherry trees and maples in the garden were heavy with green leaves. The brothers were told that Mother was coming home for her last night in this world, and that was all. The reality pushed through their sleepy confusion and stubborn disbelief there in the garden, and they stood there in silence, side by side with dry eyes but leaning towards each other. 

A stray bullet, they said. One of the lieutenants had been the actual target, most likely, and as soon as they found out who, he would take responsibility for this.

As for Hanzo and Genji, it was like the winter sun had set. Distant and cold, but still taking all the light with it. 

Her casket was white, as was her kimono and the flowers. Hanzo and Genji offered incenses, and Father passed on his wakizashi for her to take with her in the afterlife. She was a wife to a Shimada, so she would probably need it. 

Hanzo clutched his prayer beads like a lifeline, while next to him Genji only stared at the white smoke rising towards the sky. Neither one of them could think clearly enough to pray. Both of them cried silently.

Her picture was set at the family shrine at the Shimada castle. Hanzo and Genji greeted her every morning. The distant winter sun became almost like a goddess, now even more unreachable than ever before. 

The world of the living kept turning and the business of the Shimada-gumi was like before. If Father grieved, he did so in private and never faltered as Oyabun, and his sons followed the example. Genji was always by Hanzo's side, and Hanzo was rarely far from their Father or Father's brothers. 

Hanzo seemed to have reached the peak of his height at 173 centimetres, but he was still gaining muscle and his shoulders weren't done squaring out yet, so he was fitted for suits often so he could look proper and show off how their family could afford to put their eldest son in well-fit clothes. Genji was just starting at his growth spurt and he wore traditional clothes, mostly dark and decorated with carps to inspire him to struggle out of his boyhood. Genji got his own wakizashi and wouldn't go anywhere without it, smugly displaying it on his belt instead of hiding it under his haori for the sake of the civilians. The brothers were put to work among the rest of the clan, and directed to earn their names as Shimada. 

Tattoos were a much expected part for them both. Just before Hanzo's fifteenth birthday he and Father took a trip out of the city to see a tattoo master to discuss his first tattoo. Of course it was to be a dragon, that much was clear, but after taking a long look at Hanzo and having a short chat, the artist suggested that the strong guardian should be blue and fly in a stormy sky. No flowers for this one, but blue and grey and storm.  
Hanzo eagerly accepted, and didn't flinch once when the artist worked on his skin with various brushes made out of steel needles. Father nodded with appreciation as he watched his son bear the procedure. 

The dragon itched and the skin peeled off of it as it healed, and the feeling was back after each session over several months until it was finished, bright and beautiful. First the skin bled, then ached and finally itched for days, and Hanzo couldn't even bathe properly with it.  
Genji was eager to aid him with the tattoo, rinsing his arm when they bathed and reminding him not to scratch it. Late at night during their private moment after a long day, when they soaked in the bath together, lazy and snug together, Genji peered at the dragon and checked if some part of it still bled in the water.

“It's so beautiful,” he said, his nose almost touching Hanzo's bicep. “I'll get a dragon tattoo too, right? Like in Father's story?”

“Of course you will. Why are you so uncertain about it?” Hanzo asked.

Genji shrugged and pressed his cheek against Hanzo's collar. “Well you know, the tattoo masters have their visions. What if I'm not fit for a dragon?”

“Of course you are. A Shimada gets a dragon, you are a Shimada, end of story,” Hanzo said, laying his hand on the back of Genji's neck and stroking his soft hair. 

After the bath they went to their own rooms, an arrangement that the elders of the clan had started to reinforce lately. They weren't children anymore, so it was time to start to shake off all the childish habits they had once had, and sleep-overs were one of those. 

Not that anyone would catch a ninja who didn't want to get caught, not even other ninja, and Genji took great pride in his ability to sneak around the castle after dark without drawing any attention to himself. Sometimes he sneaked into the kitchen to steal a snack, sometimes he sneaked out of Shimada Castle altogether and explored Hanamura's alleys and roofs, but mostly he sneaked out of his room and into Hanzo's, which was almost every night. 

Hanzo knew to expect Genji and even though he had laid down on his futon, he was never fast asleep when Genji slipped next to him under the covers and into the waiting embrace. 

Twelve-year-old Genji was starting to enter adolescence, but he still resembled a small child in the dark when he snuggled close to Hanzo. He either put his arms either around his neck or one on his side and another snug between their bodies, cold feet bumping against his brother's legs and face pressed tight in the crook of his neck. 

The fresh dragon tattoo was't yet done healing. The skin was reddish and tender and peeling off, and when Genji's small fingers felt around it he felt the lines like scars. In the dark it was impossible to tell that they were not wounds but art, an oath, a brand on his brother's skin. Genji imagined how his fingers drew the dragon there, stroked it and brought the mighty defender alive. 

Hanzo was awake and held his brother while he explored the tattoo on his arm. His arms were loosely wrapped around Genji, absent-mindedly stroking his back and hip as the younger one fondled his arm and chest. Hanzo's light yukata was pushed almost completely off his shoulder, and once he got tired of Genji's wandering hand pulling at the fabric which then rubbed at his tender skin, he pulled his arm out of the sleeve altogether and let Genji continue his explorations. 

There was a tickling burning feeling in the bottom of Hanzo's stomach that was slowly spreading in his body like alcohol and warming him up. He relaxed here and only here, safe and sound in the dark of the night and with his brother in his arms, close to him and touching him gently, curious and kind like only Genji could.  
Hanzo petted the boy like he imagined he would a cat, careful and attentive and aware of how small this living creature was – although that was hardly true anymore; Genji stood barely a head shorter than he, and would soon grow more. Hanzo discarded the thought. In daylight he was eager to grow up and become a man, but here in the dark alone with Genji he didn't want anything to change. The longer they lived, the more their duty took away these little precious things, and eventually there would be nothing left.

Urged on by the thought Hanzo pulled Genji tighter against him, wrapped his arms around the boy and hooked his leg over his. Genji made a noise, a breathless mumbling sound followed by a giggle and squirmed against Hanzo, not fighting against his hold but worming his way closer. He pressed his face against the side of Hanzo's neck, and Hanzo took a shuddering breath at the feel of a wet mouth brushing against his skin. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, enjoying the burning feeling spreading and growing stronger in his veins, how he felt his skin flushing with it and something like joy lighting up in his thundering heart.  
He rolled on his back and pulled Genji on top of him, securely in his arms. Genji wiggled off from atop of Hanzo's thigh and between them, quietly sighing against his neck. Yukata fell open easily even with the belt on, and it was easy to slip off one's shoulders. How convenient, they both had thought more than once. 

There was no need to put a name on what happened, the only label that Hanzo was concerned with was how good the touch felt. He trembled and whimpered under the clumsy caress, his skin sensitive and hungry, and he didn't even know how it wound him up like this. Why was he gasping and squirming and whimpering here, when no beating, no training nor a needle-brush had made him break like this?  
He didn't know and didn't care, he just stroked Genji, pressed his face tighter against his neck and with his left hand fit their hips together and coerced Genji to rock slowly with him. Genji gasped and hummed and called out to him, his breath humid and quick against Hanzo's neck. They wrapped themselves around each other like the dragons in their family crest, bound to serve and fight, but at least not alone. 

*

Hanzo and Genji both sat in silence, and for the first time during their very long talk the atmosphere was frightened. They were frightened by things that had already happened, but now that they were given a name they suddenly shifted and got a form, and that form was impossible to look away from. 

“Hm, say, brother,” Genji said, his voice feeble and almost shy, “you wouldn't have any sake with you? I don't think the tea is going to cut it anymore.”

Hanzo raised his brows but without any real surprise or even judgement, and he was already reaching for his belt anyway. He pulled the cork from the bottle and took a swing from it himself before passing the bottle to Genji, who accepted it without a word and drank as well.

“So. There we have it,” Hanzo grunted, wiping his mouth. “We lay with each other. And believe me or not, but I do not recall when the first time was.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Genji said, moving around uncomfortably. His serenity was cracking and giving way for anxiety. “I had sex with you,” he said, half whispered, like he was attempting to command a demon with its true name. “And I didn't even really know what sex is when I did.”

Hanzo shrugged. His spirit had broken at least an hour ago and he just accepted the conversation, like an abused dog taking yet another beating. “I had a vague idea, but I don't think I knew it was possible for men to do it with each other. I knew I wasn't allowed to touch myself, but I don't think I really connected those together.”

“Yeah... Me neither...” Genji muttered, furiously rubbing at his scars that seemed to become itchier the more they dwelled on the past. “I just... Why? With all my meditation I could never answer that one. Why did we do it? And how did it go on for so long?”

Hanzo poured both of their now empty tea mugs half full of sake before putting the cork back on his bottle, pushed Genji's mug towards him and pulled his own to his side of the table, but then eyed the liquid carefully without making a move to drink. “You always asked so many questions and searched for reason. For such an undisciplined warrior you always understood chaos poorly. Does there have to be a reason?” Hanzo asked within a sigh. 

“Yes! Yes, there has to be!” Genji snapped towards the ceiling, frustrated. “We are living, thinking human beings! We have control over our actions! We make choices! _Of course_ there has to be a reason!” 

“No, no there hasn't,” Hanzo argued with a surprisingly gentle tone. Genji recognized the kind-big-brother-voice and felt a tug at his heartstrings; that voice always corrected him when he was being stubborn and childish. 

Genji closed his mouth, and Hanzo continued: “We can think and make choices, yes, but not in everything. No human alone is in perfect control of everything, ever. Not even about themselves. You have learned balance and self-acceptance, brother, but here's what I have learned: Things happen beyond your control, and even when given a choice, the options are handed to you by fate, and there aren't necessarily many good ones, if any. When we live, we suffer, and there's no point to it. We don't grow from it, we don't learn, we can't avoid it or heal it by will. No human is that strong. We can only bear it and move on.” 

“That's what you've learned during the last decade?” Genji asked, his voice thick. 

Hanzo nodded, eyes passive and his posture listless. “If there's a meaning or a reason, that's a story narrative created by a man wanting to survive. Not necessarily a lie, but an illusion one chooses to believe in. It exists only in one's mind, but in the real world there's no reason for anything. People suffer, and that is all there is to it.”

“And then what? Do you think our choices are meaningless too?” Genji demanded. 

Hanzo looked him in the eye, and Genji's heart flinched at the soft look in them. “Did we choose to be born Shimadas?”

Genji knew from experience that a reply was expected, and even though he pursed his lips and made a sour face, he answered: “No.”

“Exactly. That wasn't a choice we were ever given. I made a choice that I wanted to be a good son and carry on our family's legacy. I didn't know what that would eventually cost me, or that in the end I would fail, and so I made a choice. In the end, it meant nothing. It was beyond my control, no matter how hard I wanted it not to be,” Hanzo said, staring in his sake and sloshing it around in the tea mug. 

Genji felt a bitter taste in his mouth and took a sip of the sake to wash it down. “And still you carried your guilt around all this time? Or does your personal chaos theory apply to everyone else except you?”

“That's not it,” Hanzo said, teeth gritting. “My actions are my own, so the responsibility is also mine. What I did doesn't change because of the circumstances, although...” he swallowed thickly, covered his mouth with his hand and then continued: “I'm ashamed to admit, Genji, but I'm relieved. I hurt you, but not like... not like _that_. Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Genji replied, turning slightly away from his brother and his barely controlled emotions. 

Hanzo took some deep breaths and sipped at his sake like it was water, barely noticing the bite of the liquor. “Maybe this conversation is useful. I think I've learned something. From the very first memory along the long road we travelled.”

Genji turned back to look at his brother, who was once again staring out of the window and to the horizon. The distant cry of seagulls and waves filled the silence. 

“I envied you when you were little,” Hanzo said. “You questioned when I accepted, refused to give up things I had already surrendered, and I hated that, I just didn't know why before today.”

Genji tilted his head, brows raised and blinked.

Hanzo sighed and rubbed his temples, subtly brushing the corners of his eyes while he was at it. “I wanted Mother to hold me. I wanted her to notice me and praise me for being a good son, and when she didn't, I tried harder. And then she went and died.” Hanzo paused, hesitated and pushed forward. “I hated her for that, a little bit.”

“I don't remember anyone but you ever holding me. No one,” Genji said.

Hanzo gave a joyless chuckle. “I think I always secretly wished that if I carried on with my duty well enough, if I worked for the clan hard enough or exceeded with archery enough, she would smile and hug me, tell me I'm making her proud. Just once.”

Genji huffed and emptied his mug in one go. “You and me both, brother.”

Hanzo ignored the comment. “Instead, I remember one time when I was twelve, maybe thirteen, arguing with her about starting to carry a bow with me. She forbade it. She said I wasn't supposed to be carrying any kind of a weapon yet, and that my wakizashi was a necessity, but anything other was too much for me. She said it was because I was her child for a little while longer.”

He sighed and peered into the mug, internally debating whether to drink or not, eventually deciding not to. “Back then I only picked up on how she called me her child, because that was what I wanted to hear. I didn't notice how she was preparing to give me up.”

Genji felt a lump in his throat and squeezed his hands into fists. “For the clan. And I was so excited to officially become a Shimada warrior.”

“We both were. It was our future. It was what our family was. Even with all your rebelling, you never rejected the Shimada name or the path of the sword,” Hanzo said. “That was what angered me the most. You couldn't leave, but refused to behave properly. And... And I didn't want you to go.”

“You never told me that,” Genji said. His scars were itchy again, but he left his hands on his knees and chewed on his lips instead. 

“I didn't have the words, and I was too proud,” Hanzo muttered with a huff. “I needed you. I needed you so much that it scared me, and at the same time I couldn't admit how lonely I was. Had always been.”

Genji swallowed and shifted in his place. He was suddenly uncomfortable in a whole different manner than before, and his hands turned cold. Suddenly he longed for more sake even though he knew very well from experience that it didn't make anything easier or the conversation smoother. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, about that. One of the hardest things I came to realize about myself during my time in Nepal was about our teenage-years, actually.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow and studied Genji and his suddenly nervous mannerism. “Out with it then,” he urged him.

“I don't know if anyone else did, but I always knew how lonely you were,” Genji started, bowing his head. “You know how much we fought on our way to adulthood. I hated you so much, from time to time, I hated everyone, but I took it out on you because I know you wouldn't push me away. You needed me, and that was the only power I had over you.”

Hanzo huffed. “You think I didn't notice?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Of course I knew what you were doing, pouting and acting out against everyone's orders. You were always selfish like that. I didn't think much of it, but I was relieved when you came back.”

“No, you don't understand,” Genji argued, “you have to understand what I mean! I'm sorry, okay? I didn't even think about what I was doing, I just noticed I had the power to yank you around, to I tormented you! I took my anger and pain out on you because it was convenient. I... I never wanted to hurt you, either.”

Hanzo bowed his head and stared in his lap.

Genji chewed on his synthetic lip and wanted to tear a piece of it out just to taste blood and feel some pain. “I know it was so fucked up and weird and all, and we were on a one-way ride straight to hell by then, but still. I hurt you, repeatedly, deliberately, and I enjoyed it. It was all the control I had. And... And I need you to know that I'm sorry.”

“That won't change any of it,” Hanzo reminded him, both of them, once again.

“I know,” Genji quietly said. “Trust me, accepting that was probably the hardest part. But I need you to know how I feel about it. I need it, okay?”

Hanzo lifted his eyes to meet his brother's, and for a moment they just held each other's gaze, trying to will the other to understand. Finally, Hanzo nodded. “Of course. I accept your feelings, and your apology. I never held any of it against you anyway.”

Genji narrowed his eyes a bit, teeth now worrying his upper lip. “You're allowed to do that, though. You know that, right? You are allowed to be hurt too.”

Hanzo looked pained for a second, then chuckled. “Thank you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter, my dear readers!  
> Thank you for your comments and kudos during the publishing process. 
> 
> This chapter has some headcanons I have of the brothers, mainly about their romantic preferences. I know they won't appeal to everyone, but oh well. After describing codependent, incestuous relationship and underage sex I will be very amused if that part is what someone decides to be angry about. 
> 
> On another note, as a person from a Nordic country it never ceases to amaze me how fast the night falls in south. Just pointing this out because the night falls really fast in this chapter. :'D

If Genji had been a menace when he was little, he grew up to be an absolute nightmare. Fifteen-year-old Genji was tall and lanky and always in a bad mood, always starting trouble and apparently just dying to get on everyone's nerves, and as an anarchistic piece of trash 'everyone' truly meant _everyone_ : Civilians, yakuza, clans under Shimada-gumi's command, everyone in Shimada-gumi, friends and foes alike, and especially his own flesh and blood. 

Genji had gone and dyed his hair, and that had only been the beginning. Green hair was followed with multiple piercings in both of his ears, gold-chain on his neck, drinking and clubbing sometimes several nights in a row and flaunting his katana everywhere he went.  
Father was going grey early and vented almost daily to Hanzo about his sad excuse of a second son who acted like a common chimpira, only worse. 

The arcade was bright like the light of day even in the middle of the night, the games blinking and flashing and making noise, the vending machines faintly glowing and the neon commercials adding to the migraine-inducing visual attack. Hanzo knew he wasn't supposed to be there before he even stepped inside, that this world resisted his kind so strongly he wouldn't have been surprised even if an invisible force field had appeared to stop him from stepping into the sea of rainbow colours and 8bit-tunes. He stood out of the crowd despite his average hight. His traditional clothing, expensive-looking warrior's hakama, haori on his shoulders, a bow on his back and the tail of a dragon peeking from under the folds of his shirt and kimono left no room for doubt what kind of a man he was. 

He spotted the biggest, noisiest group of the arcade and headed there. Smiles vanished and people gave him way when they spotted him, and without any difficulties Hanzo got in the middle of the group where stood Genji, a bright pink plastic gun in hand and breaking high-scores on a game. He was wearing a white suit with an obnoxiously bright red and green Hawaii-shirt, pointed Italian leather shoes, and his gold-chain and earrings sparkling and jingling as he moved while playing, surrounded by flashy, cheap and curious girls who were attracted to danger. Girls with bottle-blonde hair, undercuts, leather jackets, tight dresses, sharp eye-liner, neon colours and glittering bows in their hair, one of which – perhaps Genji's favourite or just a lucky one – was holding Genji's suit jacket. It took a glare from Hanzo to get the girls to take a step back. 

Hanzo stopped right next to his brother, who pointedly ignored him even though his grin was long gone just like everyone else's. 

“We are going home, right now,” Hanzo declared. 

Genji's character in the game ran out of healthbars and dropped dead. Genji made a frustrated sound and glanced at Hanzo. “Well hello there, Party Police. Did you bring your 'no fun allowed' sign with you or did you leave it by the door?” he asked, voice dripping mockery. 

“Right. Now,” Hanzo repeated coldly. 

Genji whined and moaned dramatically, but turned to grab his jacket and flash a smile to the girls, who all watched the scene with curious expression, half scared and half fascinated. He picked up his katana that was leaning against the game console, lifted it on his shoulder and gestured at Hanzo to lead the way. Hanzo spun around and marched out of the arcade with Genji on his tail. 

Genji had wandered so far that they took the train back. Hanzo paid the ticket for the both of them and lead them to the platform, Genji following him as if pulled by an invisible rope. It was so late there were few people still out, and once they boarded the train they got a whole bench for themselves.

The train yanked into movement and so they were headed back home.

“Your behavior brings shame to our family,” Hanzo quietly said after a moment of silence.

Genji clicked his tongue. “No shit. Also, get this: I don't give a fuck.”

“You lower yourself,” Hanzo said like he hadn't heard anything. “With yourself, you lower our family name and everything it stands for.”

Genji huffed. “Because our name stands for such great things,” he muttered. 

“You are a professional ninja with the best training there is, a Shimada warrior. You should act like one,” Hanzo said, a bit more stern. From the clenching of his jaw Genji could tell Hanzo was angry and barely controlling it. “You accepted the knowledge and the katana, yet show no respect to them or the path you walk. Shame on you, brother.”

“As if anyone ever asked me what I want,” Genji hissed under his breath and glancing around. There were civilians on the same car, but no one was looking at them and all kept a safe distance, as if they didn't exist or belong to their world – and right they were. Genji felt bitterness rise in his throat. 

“Quit acting like a selfish brat! you are a Shimada, you belong to this family. Your self-centred rebellion will accomplish nothing but shame for us all,” Hanzo said through gritting teeth. 

Genji rolled his eyes and squeezed his katana with both hands. “Well excuse me for wanting to go out sometimes! Unlike you, I still have a soul and a sense of humor.”

“Those people are not your friends, Genji!” Hanzo snapped. “Those are outsiders, civilians who want to get a good look at a real yakuza, or foolish girls after your money. Their respect isn't real!”

“Oh I don't have to pay for my company,” Genji spat with a snarl, “and so what if they are? What the fuck do I care? Like you have any friends, even pretended ones, brother!”

Hanzo glared at him and raised his chin up. “Unlike you, I don't waste my time with games and booze and drugs.”

“You know why we don't have any friends?!” Genji snarled quietly, leaning closer to Hanzo. “Because we are god-damned Shimadas! Our name is like a fucking curse!”

Hanzo looked like he was barely holding himself back from slapping Genji. It wouldn't be the first time. Genji turned his cheek, welcoming the blow.

“I would have company more often if you didn't run off to heavens know where,” Hanzo said, the icy tone back in his voice. “We have each other. We are a family.”

“I hate this family,” Genji hissed and watched with glee how pain of rejection flashed in Hanzo's eyes. Genji knew that Hanzo didn't have anyone but the family; Who would be mad enough to get near the Shimada-gumi's heir, the frightening young man with emotionless eyes, frozen demeanor and a startlingly long list of successful jobs for his age. Shimada-gumi's new generation of perfect warriors, a merciless hit-man at eighteen. 

Genji was ranked with his brother no matter what he did, and year by year it had started to dawn to him what it truly meant. If in his childhood the adults living and working in Shimada Castle had felt distant like a different world behind a thin curtain while the brothers played in the world of their own, the Shimada family had now come into perfect focus and the rest of the world had faded behind the curtain. Not only civilians, but other yakuza-clans as well; no one wanted to get too close to Shimada-gumi. 

They climbed over the castle's gate and sneaked through the gardens. Their argument was on a break while they passed the guards and thus avoided Father's and uncles' watchful eyes, but as soon as they got safely inside and were on the way to their own rooms, they picked up right where they left off. One might think a little break would clear the air, but Genji was fuming even more than before.

“You act so cool and proper all the time, brother, like you didn't feel anything,” Genji murmured almost like to himself but fully aware that Hanzo heard him.

“I have accepted the burden of dragons,” Hanzo said, icy and trembling with rage. “The same duty awaits you, and you would do well to grow up and bear it like a man.”

“Again with the dragon-story!” Genji said and laughed with mockery. “You cherry-pick that one! Father's story is about balance, not you calling all the shots and me just falling in line!”

“It's about duty and unity within a family!” Hanzo shouted. “Yet you choose to run around, looking like a common street thug instead of a warrior! I have no need for a brother like you!”

Genji's heart thundered and tears stung in his eyes. The insult cut deep, and he tried to hastily cover it even though Hanzo's sharp eye caught his pain. Genji bit his lip and squeezed his hands into fists. “Fine!” he yelled back and stomped his foot. “Fine, toss me aside! Like you needed anyone! If you don't want me around then I'll do you a favor and keep my distance! You go ahead and play a noble dragon all by yourself, _Onii-sama_!” Genji saw Hanzo flinch and, for a second, look uncertain. Genji felt a spark of cruel joy and stormed off to his own room with that little victory. 

Genji didn't calm down even after slamming the door behind him and throwing himself on his futon. He kicked the floor for a few times, running the events of the evening and the argument over in his head, congratulating himself on his own wit and little comebacks he had thrown at his brother. Stupid Hanzo and his stupid honor and stupid family code and convictions. 

Genji told himself he didn't care about honor, at least not about Hanzo's brand of it. Genji cared about being nice and charming to girls, leading a pack of his own from clubs to arcades and bars and karaoke, and getting as many girls and why not boys too fall in love with him while he was at it. He had all the money he needed from the family business after all – business he ran with Hanzo, for the large part, and Hanzo's share of the spoils too. Hanzo never wanted much of the money, it was unfit for a warrior, he said. 

Genji felt the first sting of remorse when he thought about their work. Father and his lieutenants ran the boring finances and trade side, but as the younger ones in the line Hanzo and Genji got the exciting hits and capturing gigs, extracting intel and collecting payments and high-end protection money. Hanzo was always by Genji's side there, always watching his back and trusting his own life with Genji.

Anger bled out of Genji and he started to feel a bit silly about his earlier outburst. Hanzo was right: none of his party gang would even look him in the eye during the day. They were all at least a bit afraid of Genji anyway. None of them knew about his life. Only Hanzo did. He was there in the morning and gave him a glass of water when he was hung-over. 

The futon was cold and lonely, and his own room was strange to him after all the nights spent elsewhere. He thought of the pain on Hanzo's face earlier, and now that the anger was gone a strong need to go over and comfort his brother hit him so hard his chest hurt. He got up and sneaked outside. 

When Genji slipped in Hanzo's room through the door on the garden's side, he was surprised: He had expected Hanzo to be in the middle of his evening routine and tending to his weapons or combing his stupidly long hair, but instead he was still fully dressed and anxious-looking, just about to step outside into the corridor when Genji entered. 

“Genji,” he whispered, his voice overwhelming with pure relief. His eyes were wide when they locked gazes, and with the pained relief and remorse on his face Hanzo looked as young as he truly was. “I was just... About to...” He gestured vaguely towards the corridor and Genji's room.  
Genji closed the door after himself. He glanced at Hanzo's katana and the precious Stormbow both carelessly discarded on the floor by the door, then back at his brother. He gave a weak smile and half a shrug. “Don't leave me, okay?”

Hanzo opened and closed his mouth and slowly shook his head. “Don't you leave me either then,” he muttered. He turned to quickly flick the light off, then focused on Genji in the dark, stepping closer.

They met in the middle, and despite having grown taller Genji let Hanzo cradle his head in his hands like when he had been ten and bring it against his shoulder. Genji reached to pull Hanzo's ribbon loose and let it fall on the floor. He turned his head, pushed his face against Hanzo's neck and inhaled the scent of his hair, closing his eyes and letting his thoughts drift. He focused on the feeling of his brother's fingers combing through his hair despite all the hairspray he had put in it, and even gently fondling the offensive piercings in his ears. Hanzo petted his neck and back, caressing him soft and kind before pulling him tighter against him, and Genji gladly surrendered, humming contently in the crook of his brother's neck, thinking nothing. 

Hanzo guided them towards his futon and lay them down on it, side by side. Genji might have been taller but here he felt suddenly childish, starving for attention. He didn't care about his tough image put openly pouted when Hanzo pushed him away from his arms so he could start peeling off his clothes.

“Don't make that face at me,” Hanzo said at Genji's pout, but smiled while he scolded. 

Genji hurried to fight with the knots of Hanzo's belt and the strings holding his archer's attire together, cursing traditional clothes and their complexity while Hanzo unbuttoned his shirt with ease. Everything came off, hurried and practiced, and they escaped the cold air under the covers. 

Genji crawled in Hanzo's lap and wrapped his arms around his neck. He pushed his fingers in his long hair and felt around the muscles in his back, where his fingertips found the tail of the dragon and followed the line of the scar down the arm. Hanzo's fingers had already found the dancing green dragon on Genji's back, and was tracing its scales and mane as well. Inspecting the beasts branded into their skin was like a ritual for them, like they somehow expected the other to vanish over-night, breaking their cycle. 

Getting a tattoo had been a long, painful process. Genji had panted and cursed his way through it, and Hanzo had been there with him every time, calming him with words and reminding him of the virtue of patience, that the pain had a reward. In private Hanzo had tended to the sore dragon and falling cherry blossom petals around it, washing and greasing the places Genji couldn't reach. 

In private, they both tended to the wounds of the other, some skin-deep, some running deeper. Genji found it easier to think about every ache and bruise as a tattoo, that eventually they would all have a reward in store, something greater than just blood stains in his sheets and shame, something like a fitting end for a good story. 

When Hanzo took a hold of his hips and guided him on his back, Genji followed the lead. He kept his eyes closed even though the dark hid everything already, trusting only his touch to guide him. He felt a gentle, atoning kiss on his cheek, then another in the corner of his mouth. Genji turned his head and kissed back, small and chaste little pecks to say he was sorry, he was here, he felt the distance as ache in his spirit too. It was a short, wordless conversation, and then it ended. Hanzo knew that Genji wanted to hold on to him and hide in the crook of his neck, and he let him do just that. The kissing part ended, Genji took a steady hold with his arms around the other's neck, and they moved on. Hanzo fumbled around under the covers, spread Genji's legs and settled between them, and there they could start winding around each other again.

Genji didn't like kissing Hanzo much. He kissed pretty girls, he kissed his lovers, but somehow those kinds of gestures didn't belong here with them. Hanzo seemed to prefer petting and holding and being held as well, and so that was the way of things. 

They pressed together and just felt each other up for a long while, like they usually did. They clutched at each other and rocked back and forth gently, like rocking each other to sleep, aimless and tender, the darkness hiding them and providing an illusion of timelessness. 

Arousal was achieved with some concentrated effort, and soon gentle and aimless turned into strong rhythm with intention. Hands rubbed and pressed, guided with hands where just hips failed. Genji whined with frustration, and Hanzo shushed him. They stopped, Genji was pulled in a better position, and their graceless fumbling movements resumed. 

Genji wanted to hold Hanzo closer and smell his hair. He wanted to be as small as he felt so he could fit completely in his lap and stay there, fall asleep there and be safe, safe and loved. He didn't care about the need burning in the bottom of his stomach, winding him tight and begging for release, but he did care that it was Hanzo who was there with him, tending to that flame and caring for him. 

The only downside to the whole affair was the mess afterwards. Hanzo had tissues stored under his futon, and he pulled a few out to clean them both off so they could continue comfortably. Genji would have preferred to take a shower or at least change the sheet because no matter how mindful they tried to be, there was always at least the tiniest semen stain somewhere, just waiting to turn cold and nasty. But sometimes the secrecy meant uncomfortable things, and besides Genji didn't believe Hanzo would let go of him if he tried to leave, nor that he himself actually had the strength of spirit needed to pull himself out of his brother's arms. 

*

They were silent again, and once again unable to look each other in the eye. Hanzo felt his face burning and knew he was bright red all over, and yet his hands felt cold. This had to be the peak of embarrassment. 

Genji cleared his throat. “So, anyway, that's... That's how it was for me. It was actually kind of a breakthrough for me to realize how different our thing was from my flings. It helped me with the shame,” he said, rubbing the side of his nose as if that could hide how red his cheeks and ears were. “How... How was it for you?”

Hanzo closed his eyes and prayed for a miracle to save him from here. For the first time since they had started the conversation he really longed to throw himself out of the window and fall six stories to the rocks just so he wouldn't have to talk about sex with his brother. For some bizarre reason talking about sex was more embarrassing than having it. 

“I... I don't really... Know. Um,” he said with a slight stammer. “I suppose the same in a way that it wasn't about the... the release.”

Genji laughed out-loud at his choice of words, but his voice trembled too.

Hanzo internally struggled with his embarrassment to find the right words and force them out. “Nor was it about the pleasure. I just... I don't know. I wasn't thinking. It just was how we were and I didn't question it!”

“Why?” Genji asked. “You could have just... Stopped.”

“So could have you,” Hanzo said, a bit defensive. 

“I didn't want to,” Genji countered. “Why didn't you?”

Hanzo thought for a minute, forcing himself to visit the memory and focus on it, forcing himself to really see what it was. “Comfort, I think,” he finally said, pressing his cold fingers against his burning cheek hoping it would ease the blush. Thinking about his younger self was painful, realizing all the feelings he had convinced himself didn't exist and how futile lying to himself had been. “I was so... Professional and dutiful, all the time. Nothing cracked, ever, I was strong and proud and did everything right. But no one complimented me or expressed any kind of – ” he paused and searched for the right word. “ – admiration, or anything akin to it. No one cared about me. I wanted someone to take care of me too.” Hanzo swallowed and moved on to scratch and pick on his cuticles. He felt like a turtle on its back, vulnerable belly-side exposed.

Genji combed both of his hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he said, “this is so fucked up. If someone had picked us up more as babies, do you think we would have been alright?”

Hanzo pulled a string of skin off his finger and watched it start to bleed. “I don't think it's that simple. There were other factors.”

“It was just us then, wasn't it?” Genji asked, and Hanzo flinched at the bitterness in his voice. 

Hanzo sighed and gave a shrug. “It happened. It happened and that's it.”

Genji nodded reflexively. “Fuck,” he muttered again under his breath. 

Hanzo focused on his fingernails and how much skin he could scratch off from there, and felt a small twinkle of satisfaction every time he saw blood. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked before he could bite his tongue. “It's something that's been bothering me, but it's rather personal.”

Even with his eyes on his hands Hanzo almost felt Genji's unimpressed look. 

“Ani-san, we are beyond personal at this point. Go ahead,” Genji huffed.

Hanzo nodded. Cleared his throat. Picked on the cuticle of his index finger with compulsive need to make it bleed. “Did our inappropriate affair leave permanent marks on you?” 

Genji tilted his head. “Like, scars?”

Hanzo shook his head. “No, not physical ones. Did it affect your... tastes?” 

Genji turned the question around, probably tried to understand it, and then a light went off. “Are you asking me about my kinks?”

“What? No!” Hanzo hastily snapped. “I'm asking about your preferences! I know you had girlfriends then but – “

“You're asking if you made me gay,” Genji asked with his head tilted and eyes narrowed.

Hanzo felt stupid and his face burned even more, but he nodded anyway.

“Oh, Hanzo...” Genji sighed, suddenly sweet if a tad pitying “You didn't make me into anything, okay? Although... Well, I did have a lot of partners between the ages of fourteen and twenty-three. I think I was trying to work out the stuff we did, just very badly. I was in my mid-twenties when I figured that I'm straight. That was kind of a relief for me, actually. I don't like men like that, and figuring that out tipped me off that our thing wasn't just on me or some... weird perversion or anything like that.”

Judging by the relaxed line of his shoulders and the neutral expression on his face Genji seemed to be at peace about that part about his life and definitely happy about his identity, and the smile he gave Hanzo was trying to offer reassurance. Despite that Hanzo was still anxious, his heart thudding in his chest and words forming in his throat yet not wanting to come out of his mouth. He was relieved, but there was another layer to his worry at play. 

The silence made Genji's smile falter a bit, and suddenly understanding lit up in his eyes.  
“And what about you?” he asked even though he obviously had an idea what the answer was going to be.

Hanzo struggled to find the words and reach a consensus between truthful, appropriate and something he could actually force himself to say.  
“I like men, actually,” he managed to finally force out while staring over Genji's head. “I... prefer them, I think. Not exclusively, but... Strongly.”

“That's fine,” Genji hurried to say. “It's totally fine with me. And everyone else, I assure you.” He paused, but then wasn't apparently able to help himself because he blurted out: “Have you been with a guy?”

Hanzo felt a strong need to groan and cover his eyes, but was simultaneously oddly relieved by seeing this mischievous, rude side of his brother – the side he was most familiar with.  
“No, I have not,” he replied awkwardly. “I've had encounters with a few women, but never a... I've never had a real relationship.”

There were remains of glee in Genji's eyes though his comment was bleak: “Yeah, me neither.”

The sun was starting to set outside. The clouds were orange and pink before they sank in the darkening horizon. The warmth had suddenly disappeared and a cool evening was settling over Gibraltar. Seagulls had turned quiet. 

“Can I ask one more thing, Genji?” Hanzo asked, his eyes staring outside into the approaching night. 

“Yes.”

“You attacked the family after you were saved and turned into a cyborg, correct?”

Genji huffed. “I thought you'd figured that out. I wondered why you haven't scolded me about it already.”

Hanzo turned back to look at his brother. “I want to know why you did it.”

Genji turned serious, and something cold gleamed in the bottom of his dark eyes. His jaw clenched briefly. “Back then, I felt nothing but hate and resentment. I blamed everyone about everything. You shattered my world when you turned against me, and I hated our family and the clan for stealing my life from me before I was even born.” He paused as if to dare Hanzo to interrupt him, deny it or defend the family name. When he said nothing of sorts, Genji continued: “My original plan was to turn that hate against Shimada-gumi, become a rogue dragon and destroy it all, and after the empire was dealt with, I'd kill myself.”

Genji met Hanzo's gaze, steely and determined. Hanzo didn't look surprised, just simply nodded as a sign of understanding. 

Genji shrugged at the things of past, then curiously commented: “I always wondered why you didn't put up a better fight, though. We were constantly over-prepared and practically trampled over some of your operations.”

Hanzo took a deep breath, held it and let it out. “Turning against you was the honorable thing to do, but no matter how many rituals it was dressed up in, it was the worst thing I have ever done in my life. It broke something deep in me. I haven't been able to touch a katana since that day. I was not the man I was before.”

“Neither one of us were,” Genji said quietly. After a moment of hesitation he added: “I thought you'd kill yourself when the clan fell.”

“I thought about it,” Hanzo said. “It would have been fitting. But I... Decided I needed to carry the burden of killing you, and on top of that letting our bloodline and its legacy turn to ash. Death would have been too easy.”

The air was heavy with something, perhaps the presence of death that they had both called upon, and they both shivered. Genji stood up to close the windows. When he sat back down, Hanzo was staring at the table with a frown.

“We really ended it,” Hanzo said. “Ended it all.”

“What?” Genji asked.

“The Shimada clan. There are no more heirs. We are the last ones, and we've abandoned the family, and they have disowned us. We have no cousins. We have ended the Shimada bloodline,” Hanzo whispered, almost terrified to utter a truth so heavy. “More than seven hundred years of tradition, finished.”

Genji nodded but didn't say anything. No matter how angry and bitter he had been, no matter how much he had wanted the clan to fall, it had been the only family he had known, and now it was gone forever. 

“It's not worth mourning over,” Genji stubbornly claimed. “Consider what we were: A bunch of assassins. Murderers and criminals. What's that worth?”

Hanzo chuckled with a bitter smile. “Nothing, brother, but it was our family regardless. Our parents, our uncles and aunties, our home.” He leaned his chin on his palm and closed his eyes for a moment. “I miss it, from time to time. Mother's cooking and setting the table, spring days in the gardens, running on top of the walls early in the morning while uncles yelled at us.”

“Yeah,” Genji agreed with a heavy sigh. “When I spent time in Nepal with the monks, I woke up early in the morning just like we did at home, and sometimes for a second I didn't know where I was. For a moment there I thought I'd soon be eating rice and fried fish for breakfast with you and start the morning training. When I realized where and when I was, I felt so lonely I could cry.”

Hanzo's gaze flickered across Genji's face, studying him carefully. “I'm sorry you went through that. It would have been kinder if you hadn't looked back.”

Genji pressed his palms against his eyes and rubbed harshly. “Yeah, I know,” he admitted. He changed his sitting position, pulled his knees against his chest and rested his cheek on top of them. “For the longest time I wasn't sure if I even wanted you back in my life, you know.”

“It took you ten years to decide, so I assumed that was the case. Why you decided what you did, I don't know,” Hanzo replied. He looked exhausted, like he didn't have the energy to be hurt by Genji's harsh truths. 

Genji tried to offer something akin to a smile, but the expression felt forced and so he let it fall. “The truth is, I missed you. Knowing you're alive somewhere bothered me more and more every day. If you were dead I could have moved on, but just being apart felt awfully lot like hiding.”

“Ties of blood can't be severed,” Hanzo supplied the younger, who nodded in return. 

“And so I sought you out. And I... wanted answers. My fear kept we away too, and I decided to defeat it. And today I finally spoke up about this, so here we are,” Genji said, left hand rubbing at his eyes and the wrinkles between them.

Sky was dark outside. The brothers sat in silence, heads drooping and shoulders tense, staring at the table top and occasionally glancing at each other. There was a sense of finality lingering between them, but no closure.

Hanzo sighed and cracked his neck. “How are you feeling?” he asked with a meek voice.

Genji gave a weak shrug with his face leaning on his knees. “Exhausted. You?”

“Hollow,” Hanzo replied. 

Genji huffed and flashed a tense little smile. 

“What now?” Hanzo asked. “I doubt this is the only conversation like this, if we intend to fix anything.”

“Not fix,” Genji corrected, “heal. And you're right, this isn't nearly enough. We'll have to do this again, reflect, process, and stuff like that. Personally I hope that in the future...” he hesitated, like he was afraid of jinxing his own wish, “I wish I could spend time alone with you without it feeling so tense.”

Hanzo looked bothered by the wish, like it was a particularly uncomfortable challenge set up to torment him, but he nodded anyway. He considered his own situation and said: “For the time being I'd like my quarters remain a good distance away from yours, and we'll sleep apart. The farther our situation is from the one we had at home, the better. I don't wish to repeat the same mistakes.”

“Yeah, sure, if that's comfortable for you,” Genji agreed right away. “You could give the people here a chance, though. You might make some friends. It doesn't have to be just me and you anymore.”

Hanzo huffed at the suggestion and crossed his arms. “Only if you'll do the same. Try and make new friends, real ones.”

“It's a deal, then.”

They were running out of things to say, and to ease the awkwardness and the heavy, drained atmosphere in the room, Genji started to clean up the table. Not that there was much to clean up, but he took Hanzo's mug from his side of the table, his own from his side and put them next to the cold tea pot. The minimal tableware didn't look any more orderly when put together, and Genji found himself to be too weary to get up from the floor and get a tray, so they remained there. 

Hanzo didn't move a muscle to help him, just followed the younger with his gaze without a comment, even when Genji obviously gave up midway through the clean up and slumped back down. At some point Hanzo's posture had started to fall apart too, and now he had his elbow propped on the table and his cheek resting against his knuckles. 

“We really have to do this again, don't we?” Hanzo asked, sounding old. 

Genji sighed and nodded. “Healing takes time. And besides, what other choice do we have?”

Hanzo clicked his tongue. “We could always just die,” he suggested, not completely as a jest. “But since we are alive, we should keep moving forward. Even if it turns out to be for nothing.”

Genji stared back at Hanzo with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Always forward. Maybe we haven't ruined everything yet,” he said. 

They shared a silent understanding. The moment passed. Outside the night had fallen. 

Hanzo was very much aware that he couldn't stay there in his brother's room, not with their emotions rubbed raw like skin against asphalt, and not with the decision they had just agreed upon about maintaining distance for the sake healing for now. No matter how drained and hollow he felt, he had to leave. 

So Hanzo straightened his back, pulled his legs under himself properly once more and bowed his thanks. “I'm sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for the tea, brother.”

Genji didn't bother with his posture, but bowed his head too. “No need to be sorry. You are welcome, Ani-san.”

Hanzo pushed himself up to his aching feet, turned around and walked to the door that had shut them in the room even though it was unlocked. He pushed it open, stepped over the doorstep and walked away, looking forward to getting some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished. I feel so pure now that I got this off my chest! 
> 
> Thank you all who read this, left kudos on this work, and those who left comments! Comments are gold for a writer. <3  
> Know that feedback, your thoughts and feelings, and discussion is still very much welcome!
> 
> Also you can find this work and me on Tumblr as Zombieheroine.


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